Page 21 of Cherry Auction

I siton the edge of the bed, waiting in the dim dungeon room with my eyes closed. The lights are motion activated, so when I still, they go dark. I wave my hand every time to make the lights come back on. God, I hate the dark.

I spent the first hour looking at every terrifying whip and implement hanging from the wall up close in detail but then decided it might be best to close my eyes and meditate.

They taught us how to do it at the women’s shelter and said it could help when things felt too chaotic or scary. Picture a little dock leading out to a still lake on a perfectly tranquil morning. It only marginally helps calm my racing heart. I’m drawn to water. The little picture of a smallbabbling river over rocks was how I chose my new name—Brooke. Thinking of water starts to calm me down.

But then I shift and the chain attached to my freakingcollarrattles, reminding me that I’m not at some peaceful lakeside.

I’m here, chained like a dog in a sex dungeon.

My eyes spring open when I hear the ping of the elevator.

Oh shit, he’s back.

“Evenin’, sweetheart,” he calls in that thick Irish drawl of his. It sends a shiver down my back. I’m only slightly disturbed at myself that I can’t tell if it’s a shiver of anticipation or fear. Maybe something in between.

I’ve been waiting for him to return and at the same time been anxious about it. I screamed until my throat was raw. Whoever was at the door either didn’t hear me or was just as twisted as Sir and didn’t care.

“What are you going to do with me?”

He smiles at me in an eerie way as he runs a hand over my hair. “I’m going to treat you as I would any beloved pet. I’ll feed and water you and take you for walks. And I’ll train you.”

“Train me?” I yank away from his touch on my head. He mentioned that before he left, and it doesn’t sound any less ominous now.

His smile grows wider. “Oh yes, pet. We’ll have some lovely training sessions. At our essence, we’re all really just animals. Your father taught me that. So now you getto be the good doggy, get on all fours, and I’ll take you on a walk.”

My father? It’s not the first time he’s mentioned my father. Does hereallyknow me? “If you actually know me, tell me something else. What’s my father like?”

He leans in, smile gone. I haven’t felt really scared in the way I feel like I should, until right in this moment.

There’s an unhinged look in his eyes as he gets right in my face. “Your father loved inflicting pain more than anyone I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a lot of sadistic motherfuckers. He made an art of pain. It was his one true love.”

I inhale in shock, pulling back from him.

“Now get on the floor, dog.”

My limbs are already moving before I’ve consciously decided to do what he’s asking. Is it because I’m afraid of him? Of what he’ll do if I don’t obey?

Or because what I’m really afraid of is that he’s telling the truth?

All I’ve wanted since I woke up is to know who I am.

What if this awful dungeon is where I can find the answers I’m searching for? I knew they might not be pretty. I knew there was a reason I’m afraid of the dark. Is it because my father is the man he’s describing? What the fuckwasmy life?

“Good girl,” he breathes out, laying a hand gently but with light pressure on my head. Petting me. This time I don’t yank away.

The carpet is soft underneath my hands and knees, but I’m shaking. I might have been through a lot in the past two months, but so far, I’ve mostly clung to my dignity.

“I own you now, pet. And now I’m going to take you for a walk.”

He removes my collar from the ceiling chain and attaches it to a leash. I breathe out hard. So much for the dignity.

“That’s a good dog,” he praises with such warmth in his voice as he pets my hair, it creates conflicting feelings in my chest. Of course it’s condescending and degrading to be called a dog. But also… um… uh… there’s also this stupid warmth that floods my chest at his words. I’m so confused by it, I don’t know what to do except crawl forwards when he urges me to.

“That’s my good pet,” he continues to praise. “What a good, good girl. Such a good girl.”

The praise floods me with bizarre endorphins. It’s absolutely ridiculous. I’m instantly furious at myself.

Is this just a normal captive’s reaction to the situation? Knowing I’m safest when I just go along with what he asks of me?

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